Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series) by Arlene Kay

red in tooth and claw.” Once again, Deming’s caution had been warranted.
    “Something wrong, Eja?” Meeka stared at me placidly, as if we hadn’t uttered the “M” word. I’m told that spies, psychopaths, and tax collectors have that same untroubled gaze.
    “You actually believe Merlot Brownne? That surprises me.”
    “I’m a realist, Eja. I don’t consult psychics or read tea leaves.” Meeka leaned back in her chair and adjusted her headband. “Our Ms. Brownne is a con woman—a very smooth, sophisticated one. Even that pretentious way she spells her name shows a hint of style. She’s a great comfort to Persus, but a fraud nevertheless.”
    “That kind of comfort isn’t cheap,” I said, thinking of the fifty thousand dollar “loan” that Merlot had finagled.
    “Might as well pay it to her rather than some Freudian with an axe to grind.” Meeka grinned. “Believe me, I’ve seen enough of them to last a lifetime. At least Merlot listens to Pert.”
    My window of opportunity was closing fast, so I turned the conversation back to Dario. “Tell me about the changes you guys proposed. Why so much emotion?”
    “Bayview is an old, traditional society as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Very different from Boston, not that Boston is a beacon of change either.”
    Meeka took yet another swallow of tea. The woman must be part camel to store that quantity of water inside her. Diuretics made me bolt for the restroom after thirty minutes. Most men had even less endurance.
    “Our plan was bold,” she said. “We holed up every Tuesday, perfecting it.” Meeka chuckled. “Think about this: no more development; Main Street closed to motorized vehicles; and the pièce de résistance—bike lanes and trails that would draw cycling enthusiasts from all over the world to Bayview. Pretty radical, huh? At least that was Dario’s hope.”
    I shrugged. “Surely he knew the odds on that? Dario wasn’t naïve.”
    Another secret smile from Meeka. “He was focused—intent on getting his way. Of course Dario spread a healthy dose of charm when he had to. Most people underestimated him.”
    Her frown included me in that group of naysayers, and she was right on target. Meeka’s portrait of a brash, cunning Dario Peters was at odds with the man I had known. Correction. The man I knew as a youth, not an adult. Perhaps the mature Dario had more grit and brains than I gave him credit for.
    Their bold plan was a certified long shot. Local interests could easily coalesce and block major provisions of it. And yet . . . there was always the matter of twenty-six pristine acres of oceanfront property. Persus Cantor might throw a spanner in the works at the behest of her nephew.
    I flashed my sunniest smile at Meeka. “Ooh, I don’t think you’d make Laird Foster’s Christmas card list with that agenda, although Mr. Dale would certainly approve.”
    Meeka shrugged. “You writers! So insulated from the world. Laird’s a realist. Morde too. Sometimes you take half a loaf or risk getting nothing. I knew that, but I’m not sure that Dario did. He was an all or nothing type of guy, and he usually got his way.”
    “What about this casino issue I read about in the Globe ? That would sabotage your dreams.”
    I got a momentary glimpse of the real Meeka, an “Off with their heads,” Queen of Hearts type of gal. She recovered quickly and favored me with a neutral smile.
    “Trade-offs are inevitable in a democracy, Eja. Our business plan was flexible except when it came to the environment. No compromise on that. Besides, no one is seriously pushing a casino in Bayview. Not enough land.”
    A dark disturbing thought marched across my mind. As long as Dario lived, Persus would never sell her land. Dario was her heir, which meant that time was definitely on his side. After all, Persus was closing in on eighty. With Dario gone, all bets were off and anything was possible.
    I SAUNTERED OUT of the restaurant, too absorbed in my